


The Green-Eyed Monster

by Seraphtrevs



Series: Only You [4]
Category: Better Call Saul (TV)
Genre: Dark, I tried to warn you, Jealousy, M/M, buckle up y'all, consent of the most fucked up kind, domesticity in hell, fucked up fairy tales, lalo is a sociopath, lalo is a wolf this time, nacho's powerful thighs, seriously bring a flashlight, very dark
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-20
Updated: 2020-03-20
Packaged: 2021-02-28 22:48:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,075
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23225044
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Seraphtrevs/pseuds/Seraphtrevs
Summary: Varga. Ignacio. Nacho. Nachito. His clothes were tailored—flashy, but tasteful. He never boasted or blustered, never made a fool of himself. Intelligent. Diligent. Every move he made was thought out and carefully executed. A lost prince—kidnapped as a child, maybe, who grew up impoverished, waiting to claim his birthright.Lalo liked that. But if Nacho was a lost prince, what did that make him? There weren’t many fairy tales with two princes.Lalo finds out about Nacho's girls.
Relationships: Eduardo "Lalo" Salamanca/Ignacio "Nacho" Varga
Series: Only You [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1658944
Comments: 26
Kudos: 92





	The Green-Eyed Monster

**Author's Note:**

> This one is a wild ride. I don't want to spoil anything, but you might want to secure yourself and hold onto something. It's a fairy tale, though, and you know how those end.

“Oh, beware, my lord, of jealousy!

It is the green-eyed monster which doth mock

The meat it feeds on.”

\- Othello, Act 3 scene 3

“I’ll huff, and I’ll puff, and I’ll blow your house in.”

\- the Big Bad Wolf

It was disgraceful, Lalo thought, the shabbiness of the criminals this side of the border. Each dealer that dragged their sorry ass into El Michoacáno embarrassed him. They were all lowlifes, misfits from the dregs of society. Some of them knew how lowly they were, and were ashamed. Others clearly thought themselves kings, with their gaudy outfits and puffed up attitude, like chickens who had stolen a peacock’s tail. They filled him with pity and disgust.

Well—not all of them. The exception was sitting in his usual seat, shuffling through the cash, a small crease on his brow as he paid careful attention to his work.

Varga. Ignacio. Nacho. Nachito. His clothes were tailored—flashy, but tasteful. He never boasted or blustered, never made a fool of himself. Intelligent. Diligent. Every move he made was thought out and carefully executed. A lost prince—kidnapped as a child, maybe, who grew up impoverished, waiting to claim his birthright.

Lalo liked that. But if Nacho was a lost prince, what did that make him? There weren’t many fairy tales with two princes.

Lalo kicked up his loafers as he watched Nacho at work. Memories of last week warmed him. The only time Nacho ever lost his habitual seriousness was when Lalo had his cock in his mouth. That rigid control of his melted like chocolate, leaving him a sweet, sticky mess. Lalo licked his lips at the thought of another taste.

Nacho’s eyelashes fluttered as he glanced his way. He shifted in his seat—yes, he was thinking of it, too, although his expression betrayed nothing. His gaze shifted away, but his hand splayed over his thigh.

Lalo bit his lip. Was that on purpose? Nacho’s gaze darted to him again, briefly. And wonders of wonders, the corners of his lip turned up. It was gone in an instant, but it had been enough. His Nachito was thinking of him, and wanted him to know it.

It was all Lalo could do not to kick everyone out so that he could bend his prince over a table.

Alas, there was work to do. How tedious.

All of Albuquerque was tedious. The problem with the Chilean had passed from being intriguing to being irritating, and so Lalo’s mind had turned to other games. His first night with Nacho had been impulsive. He was frustrated and needed a conquest. And what a conquest! Nacho didn’t grovel or blubber. He didn’t threaten or defy, either. Instead, he’d yielded—a dignified submission so beautiful that it took his breath away.

Lalo had backed off after the first time, wanting to see what he would do. If Nacho hadn’t expressed interest, Lalo probably would have left it alone. But Nacho didn’t disappoint him. He’d offered himself so sweetly—there was such tenderness under his stony exterior. Tenderness that was reserved for Lalo alone. _Only you_ , he’d sighed in his arms.

Lalo put his legs down and draped his newspaper over his lap. Business first, pleasure later. He should follow’s Nacho’s example.

A chicken-legged dealer laden with cheap gold chains strutted through the door, taking a seat in front of Domingo. He talked too loud, too crass. He seemed to think that he and Lalo were friends. Lalo let him prattle on, though. Noblesse oblige.

At last, he stopped blabbering. Domingo gave a nod—he was good. Thank God. Lalo couldn’t wait for him to leave. The chicken stood, bid them farewell—but then turned back. “Hey Nacho, how’s your girl?”

…girl?

Nacho’s face betrayed nothing. Maybe this chicken was mistaken, but he continued. “Damn, you probably wonder which one I mean. I’m talking about Amber—me and her used to hang.”

…more than one?

Lalo set his paper aside with exaggerated care. He bared his teeth in a grin. “Nacho, you never told me you were such a ladies man,” he said brightly.

Nacho remained stone faced.

The chicken man spoke again. “Hell yeah, he is! You gotta tell us your secret, man.”

Lalo stood up. “Yes, your secret.” His grin grew wider. “You must tell us!” He laughed—a loud, short bark.

Nacho looked away. Domingo shifted uncomfortably—he was a mouse, but he wasn’t stupid. But the chicken kept on squawking. “If I had two fine honeys like that at home, I’d never leave."

“Two girls? Both at home?” Lalo prowled across the room until he was standing over Nacho, whose gaze was fixed at some invisible point in front of him. “Why, Nacho. You _dog_.” Lalo kept the grin on his face, but the last word came out a snarl.

The chicken at last seemed to realize something was wrong. “Well, it was nice doing business with you gentlemen.” He ran away.

Lalo bit the inside of his cheek, trying to suppress the rage bubbling up inside him. “Well, Nacho? Who are these girls?”

Nacho didn’t answer right away. Lalo slammed his fist on the table—several bills floated to the ground. “Look at me.”

Nacho’s gaze flew up and met his. There was fear there, yes—but a fire, too. Would he deny it? “They’re nothing.”

The anger in him curdled. He felt sick. “I’d have to disagree. They are clearly _something_.” He was on the verge of shouting. Lalo sucked in a breath and tried again. “And how long have you had these girls?”

“Since before you were here.” He looked away. “I didn’t think you’d care.”

Lalo let out another bark of laughter, louder than the first. “Of course not! Why should I care if Nacho is such a killer with the ladies? I mean, it’s hardly a surprise, is it? How handsome you are. And the money—the ladies love the money, don’t they? They flock to it like flies. I bet they’re all over you.”

Nacho touched his hand to his forehead, covering his eyes, the way he did when he thought Lalo was being insane.

Lalo swept around. Domingo was completely still, staring at them with wide eyes. “Are we done?” he roared.

Domingo started so violently he nearly fell out of his chair. It would have been funny under different circumstances. “Um, w-with what?” Domingo stammered out.

“Business—what the fuck else would I be talking about?”

Domingo blinked his eyes rapidly as he thought. “Only one left is Pete.”

“The same Pete as last week?” Lalo seethed. “Is he holding out on us?”

“No!” Domingo said quickly. “When we closed early last week, I went to his place. He’s square.”

Lalo looked at his watch. “What time do we tell them to be here by?”

“Four.”

“That’s what I thought.” Lalo tapped his watch. “And it’s 3:30.”

Domingo cocked his head. “So—he’s not late?”

“Not late.” Lalo scoffed. “Let me ask you something. If you were in Pete’s shoes and you were late last week, wouldn’t you want to get here early, to show that you have learned your lesson?”

“But last week, he wasn’t—” Domingo shut his mouth so quickly his teeth snapped. He swallowed before continuing. “I would be early, if I were him.”

“ _Exactamente_! You would be here early. So, if he is not here early when he should be, then he is...” He twirled his hand, as if to draw the answer out of him.

“…late,” Domingo finished.

Lalo grabbed his keys. “Let’s go pay him a visit.” He looked over his shoulder to Nacho, who was watching him with a hard glint in his eye. “You’re coming too, Varga. Put that money away and get your ass in the car.”

Nacho obeyed, but slowly. His face might have been made of stone for all of the expression it had. It was like he built a fortress in his mind and shut himself away.

This troubled Lalo. He knew Nacho could keep his cool. It’s one of the things he liked about him. But his perfect composure in the face of this disaster? Nacho was good at hiding things. An admirable trait when it came to business. A ruinous one if it meant hiding from Lalo—or worse, deceiving him. Was it only the two girls? Were there more? His breath hitched as he thought of an even worse possibility—another man.

Well. It would all come out, soon enough.

Lalo sped all the way to Pete’s house. He made Nacho ride in back. It wasn’t far away, in some blighted neighborhood where the houses looked like a stiff breeze would knock them over. Not a place where anyone would be keen to call the police. Good.

He gestured to one of the houses—a sad, yellow shack. “This it?”

“Yes,” Domingo said.

“All right, then.” He opened the glove box and took out his switchblade. Domingo stiffened in alarm, but Lalo ignored him. He didn’t spare Nacho a look, either. “Let’s go.”

Lalo knocked on the door. Pete opened the door a crack, the chain still drawn. He was a pig-nosed gringo with straw-colored hair. His eyes widened when he saw them.

Lalo smiled brightly. “Hola, Pete! Do you mind if we come in?”

“Uh, yeah, sure.” He shut the door and opened it again. As soon as it was open, Lalo pushed his way inside. Domingo and Nacho followed. Nacho’s expression was still blank, but there was a tightness about his jaw, and he was watching Lalo carefully.

They gathered in what passed for a living room, although there was no furniture other than a beanbag chair, a TV, and a beat up old office chair. Pete rubbed his neck. “I was just about to head over to you guys.”

Lalo shut the door before turning back to him, still smiling. “Before four, yes? Cutting it a little close, aren’t you? Especially since you were late last week.”

His brow furrowed. “But I wasn’t—”

Lalo interrupted him. “I suppose you think that we are not very busy, hmm? That we just sit around, twiddling our thumbs, waiting until Pete decides to grace us with his presence?”

Horror dawned on his face. “No, of course not—”

“Or that we have time to pay you a visit? Because you are so busy that you can’t walk the four blocks to the restaurant before four.”

He shook his head violently. “No—I’m sorry. I will be early next week, I swear.”

Lalo ran his tongue over his teeth. “Where is my money?”

Pete scrambled to get it. He tried to hand it to Lalo, but he shook his head and nodded his head toward Domingo. Lalo wasn’t a fucking accountant.

Domingo took it and counted it.

“Is it all there?” Lalo asked.

“Yeah.”

“Good.”

Domingo breathed a sigh of relief. Lalo glanced over at Nacho. His face was expressionless, but his arms were crossed. He knew they weren’t finished, because he was smart, and good with Salamancas. Most of the time.

Lalo wheeled the old office chair to the center of the room and turned to Pete. “Please, have a seat.”

Pete paled. “Why?”

Lalo smiled. “You look tired from your busy day.” He patted the chair. “Come on, then.”

Pete’s legs moved like a reluctant marionette. He sat down stiffly. His breathing had sped up, and his shirt was damp with sweat. Lalo patted his shoulders and turned to Domingo.

“Did you have a talk with Pete about tardiness?”

Domingo was tense again. “Yeah, I mentioned it.”

Lalo tutted and shook his head. “But you didn’t listen, did you Pete?” Lalo pulled out his switchblade. “If you aren’t going to use your ears, I don’t see why you need them.”

With one big slice, Lalo cut off Pete’s left ear. Pete squealed as the blood gushed from his head; he doubled over in pain. Domingo looked as if he would faint. There was a crack in Nacho’s mental fortress. Just a hairline fracture, though, soon repaired.

Lalo grabbed Pete by the hair, careful to avoid the gushing hole where his ear had been. He readied his switch blade again, but in a few quick strides, Nacho was by his side, staying his arm. “You’ve made your point,” he said lowly.

Lalo held his gaze for a few moments before releasing the crying Pete. He tumbled out of the chair, leaving a puddle of piss behind. Lalo crinkled his nose in disgust.

Nacho turned to Domingo. “Help him.”

Domingo helped Pete to his feet and led him upstairs. In the meantime, Nacho had picked up the ear and left for the kitchen. When Lalo caught up to him, he was filling a bowl with ice. He gave Lalo such a look when he joined him that Lalo nearly felt ashamed of himself. Nearly.

Lalo washed his hands in the sink. “You’ll need to put it in a baggie,” he said. “It will get frost burn otherwise.”

Nacho didn’t acknowledge him, but he opened a drawer and pulled out a baggie. He slipped the ear in and put the baggie in the bowl before covering it with more ice. When that was done, he pulled out his cell phone.

Lalo put a hand on his arm, stopping him. “Who are you calling?”

“Someone who can clean this up.” His tone was carefully neutral.

Lalo released his arm and nodded. “Hurry up, then.”

He moved back towards the door while Nacho finished his call. Pete was still moaning and crying. Lalo shook his head. What a little bitch.

A few minutes later, Nacho joined him. “Done?” Lalo asked.

Nacho gave him a curt nod. Lalo went to the bottom of the stairs and shouted. “ _Domingo!_ ”

Domingo appeared from the bedroom. “Yeah?”  
  
“Someone is coming to clean up. You stay with him—and shut him up. The neighbors will hear.”

Domingo nodded shakily. “Yes, sir.”

After he and Nacho were back in the car, Lalo stared at the steering wheel for several moments, organizing his thoughts. “Two girls,” he said, shaking his head. He slammed his hand against the steering wheel. “ _Two girls!_ ” He whipped his head to Nacho. “Show me.”

At last, the fortress showed a real crack. Fear sparked in Nacho’s eyes. “You can’t—”

“Careful,” Lalo warned. “Do you think it’s a good idea to tell me what I can and cannot do?”

His mouth shut, and he looked away.

Lalo turned on the ignition. “Show me,” he said again.

Nacho folded his arms, his mouth still closed.

Irritation flared in his chest. “Either you take me to them now, or I visit them when you’re not around. Which will it be?”

Nacho glared at him. For a moment, he thought he would refuse, but he relented and gave him his address.

Nacho’s arms remained firmly crossed the entire journey over. At first glance, he seemed composed. However, he couldn’t stop the fine tremor running through him, or suppress his heaving breath. Ready to fight for his whores? Lalo sure hoped not. Besides, he wasn’t going to hurt them. His abuelita would never approve of harming defenseless girls. But it suited him that Nacho thought he might, at least for the moment. Let it be a lesson to him.

Nacho’s home was in a good neighborhood. Lalo pulled into the driveway and turned off the car. “They in there?”

“Yeah, probably.” Nacho swallowed. “They aren’t girlfriends. They're just junkies—I let them stay with me. It’s no big deal.”

“ _I_ am the one who decides how big of a deal it is,” Lalo snapped. He grabbed his switchblade, just to make Nacho nervous.

They approached the house. Nacho didn’t hesitate, exactly—there was nothing timid about the way he held himself. But he did move slowly, with the care of a man walking through a field of landmines. He unlocked the door and led Lalo in.

The television was playing. A girl in the tiniest shorts Lalo had ever seen lounged on the couch. Her eyes had that far off look of someone on smack. She smiled when she saw them. “Hey, babe,” she said. “Are you home early?” She looked to Lalo. “Who’s your friend?”

Lalo turned to Nacho. “Where’s the other one?”

“Probably in the bedroom.”

“Well?” Lalo gestured. “Go on, get her.”

Nacho emerged a few minutes later with the other girl, who could barely keep her eyes open. Not on heroin—looked more like she had crashed after a meth binge. The other girl was sitting up now, her cow eyes dazed and dreamy, too doped up to understand she was in trouble.

Lalo gestured to the sofa. “Please have a seat, my dear.”

The girl obeyed with a yawn. Lalo clasped his hands behind his back and surveyed them. They were pretty. Junkie girls went bad quickly, but these were still fresh, still soft. He imagined Nacho drawing them into bed—both of them, being the stud that he was. He’d treat them gently, giving each of them in turn that careful attention of his, stroking their breasts, kissing their necks, his hand sliding between their legs—

Lalo clenched his hand around his knife, but then slid it into his back pocket and pulled out his wallet instead.

The girls watched dully as he counted out some money. He put a wad of cash in each of their hands. “Two thousand dollars apiece,” he said. “You are no longer needed here. You will leave right away. If I catch you back in this house, or anywhere near Nacho, I’ll kill you.”

That got their attention. They looked to Nacho, and back to Lalo. A heartbeat passed, two. “Can we get our stuff?” the cow-eyed girl asked.

Lalo flashed his teeth. “I just gave you two thousand dollars. Buy new stuff.”

He did let them get dressed, though, and put on their shoes. Because he was a nice guy, he called them a taxi, to take them wherever they wanted to go. The whole time, Nacho stood to the side, his arms clenched tightly around his chest as he stared at the floor, his shoulders heaving. The walls of the fortress were shaking. Could Lalo knock them down?

At last, the girls were ready. “Bye, Nacho,” said Cow-Eyes softly. The other girl offered a weak wave. And then they were gone.

Lalo rolled his head before turning back to Nacho. He looked like he wanted to hit him. So much for the girls meaning nothing.

Lalo turned his attention to the house. The furniture was catalog nice, sleek and modern. It was messy, but not a disaster. “You have a nice house,” he observed. “A bit messy, though. Those girls are not good housekeepers.”

Nacho shut his eyes briefly before responding. “I guess not.”

“Not great cooks, either, I think. So what did they do for you?”

No response. Lalo stalked over to him, used his superior height to loom. “Why don’t you show me?”

Still no response. Lalo grabbed his face and forced him to look at him. Nacho’s lip twitched—almost a sneer, but he got ahold of himself quickly. Lalo could almost see his mind hard at work, picking up the loose bricks and broken beams, reassembling that fortress of his so that he could hide away again.

Lalo released him. “Go take a shower. I don’t want to smell them on you.”  
  
Nacho made his way down the hall. A few moments later, the shower turned on.

Lalo breathed out, rubbed his neck. Nacho wasn’t the only one who was rattled.

He took a closer look at the house while Nacho bathed, moving from room to room. Nacho did well for himself. Most of the men who ascended to his height had ugly, crass homes, with furniture that bragged and decorations that leered. Not his lost prince, though. His house spoke boldly, but with great elegance. Lalo gazed at the pop art painting of the car on his wall. Very modern. His own home in Mexico was more classically inspired, but he liked this too.

Nacho emerged, flushed from the shower. He had enough sense not to get dressed, although he had put on underwear. From his expression, the fortress was well on its way to being repaired.

Lalo circled him and breathed in. Sandalwood soap, mint. He’d brushed his teeth. Nice and clean, all over. Some tightness left Lalo’s shoulders, but they weren’t done here, not yet.

He put a hand on his shoulder. “Kneel.”

Nacho obeyed, as he always did. No cowering or sniveling. Just a smooth, slow drop to his knees. He rested his hands on his thighs, his gaze cast downward, perfectly still.

More of Lalo’s tension eased. Nacho made a mistake, it was true. But perhaps some of the blame laid with him as well. Lalo wasn’t so arrogant to think that he didn’t make mistakes, too. His prince was so smart, so perceptive, that he didn’t think he had to lay out the rules.

He ran a hand through his hair and heaved a sigh. He was tired all of a sudden. The stylish red couch beckoned, offered comfort. He took it. Nacho kept his gaze on the floor.

“Nachito,” Lalo said. He looked up, face blank. Lalo opened his arms. “Come here.”

Nacho slid in beside him, allowed Lalo to put his arm around his shoulders and pull him in. Lalo kissed his temple. “You sit here with them like this?” A nod. “And do what? Watch TV?” Another nod.

Lalo picked up the remote and switched the television on. He flipped through the channels, stopping eventually at some telenovela. One of his abuelita’s favorites, if he wasn’t mistaken. “Would they get high?” he asked eventually.

“Yes.”

“Would you?”

A pause. “Not often,” he replied quietly.

Lalo snorted. “No, you would just make them blow you before you handed it out. Yes?”

“No.” Even quieter.

Lalo sat up and put a finger on his chin, tilting his head up. Nacho kept his gaze lowered, his absurdly long eyelashes brushing his cheeks. No, his prince wouldn’t do that. He could perform violence when it was demanded of him, but there was no cruelty in his heart.

“Look at me.” He complied. “You are an easy mark, Ignacio. Girls like that will take advantage.” He almost released him, but there was something else he had to know. “Have there been men? Now, or ever?”

“No.” Still respectful, but a hint of annoyance. “I’m not gay.”

Relief ran through him. He even chuckled. “You are at least a little bit gay, Nacho. But I believe you.” Satisfied, he removed his finger. Lalo pulled him close as he settled back into the couch. By the time the program was finished, Lalo’s anger had left him. Ay, what a mess. Juan would be annoyed about the ear thing. But never mind—that was a problem for later.

He shut off the TV. When he put the remote on the side table, something caught his attention—a box, filled with puzzles and toys.

Lalo picked up an expanding sphere. “What’s all this?”

“For Jo, when she was tweaking.”

Lalo laughed. “You bought your whores toys? How wholesome.”

“Don’t talk about them.” There was hard flint in his voice.

Lalo frowned. Defiance, now? After everything had been settled?

But when Nacho spoke again, it was soft. “They’re gone now, aren’t they?”

“Yes, they are.” Lalo put the toy away. “I really thought this went without saying, but I don’t like sharing.” He shook his finger. “No more girls.”

“Why?”

The question surprised him. “What do you mean, why?”

“What am I to you? Your boyfriend?” A sneer crept into his voice. “Something else?”

Lalo took him by the shoulders gently and looked into his eyes. “What you are is _mine_. Comprende?”

Nacho held his gaze for a long moment. “Yeah,” he said finally. “I get it.”

“Good.” Lalo rubbed his hands down Nacho’s bare shoulders, arousal sparking in him. He licked his lips. One more thing, and they could put this whole mess behind them. “I want to take you to bed now. Will you let me?”

Nacho said nothing. He was not a talkative man. Instead, he lifted one of Lalo’s hands to his mouth and kissed the inside of his wrist.

Joy bloomed in his heart, joined by desire and relief. How had he ever doubted him? Nacho was loyal, fiercely loyal. Hadn’t he taken a bullet for his family? Didn’t he do exactly as he was asked, every day? Lalo surged forward, capturing his mouth in a kiss. His Nachito. _His_.

Nacho pulled him up, led him into the bedroom. His sheets were blue silk. A spike of jealousy hit his heart when he thought about those girls, but Nacho was right, they were gone. He lay Nacho down on his back, pulled off his underwear. Not hard yet, but getting there. Lalo took him in hand as he settled over him, kissing him, stroking him. Nacho kissed back, and sighed. So beautiful.

Lalo lay beside him and stroked him, watching the desire on his face. Where were those fortress walls now? Gone? Or had he merely opened the heavy, metal portcullis, letting Lalo inside? Either way pleased him.

He pulled back and undressed quickly, sliding in beside him again, pressing their bodies together and kissing him, on his mouth, his neck, his shoulder, his chest. Normally, he would head downwards, get a taste of that cock, but the urge to be inside him was overwhelming. “You have condoms? Lube?”

“In the drawer.”

Why he had lube, he didn’t ask. Perhaps drugs dried the girls out. But no, he wouldn’t think of them. He slicked his fingers and brought them between Nacho’s legs.

It didn’t take much coaxing this time—Nacho took his fingers easily. Lalo rolled on the condom, added more lube. He arranged Nacho on his back, with a pillow under his ass as he encouraged his knees up. Taking a hold of his cock, he pressed inside. There was resistance—he was so tight—but the right amount of pressure opened him up beautifully. Soon, Lalo was buried to the root.

Nacho pulsed around him. It was like their hearts were beating together. He pulled out, pushed in. Nacho arched his hips and moaned.

Lalo set a quick rhythm. He wouldn’t last long. But just when he was on the verge of coming, Nacho pushed him off. He fell back on the bed with a surprised grunt. Before Lalo could ask him what he was doing, Nacho straddled him and lowered himself onto his cock.

Ecstasy. Nacho rode him like he was born to do it. Lalo’s own cries sounded foreign to his ears as his control slipped, his defenses lowered. For once, he let himself go.

Nacho’s hips slowed to a rock. His hands slid up Lalo’s chest, over his shoulders, to his neck. They rested there, his thumbs brushing his throat.

He pressed down.

Lalo tried to take a breath in. He couldn’t. Lalo tried to find purchase to push him off, but Nacho’s thighs were strong and held him in place. Nacho sped up his hips again, fucking him hard. Faster and faster. Lalo clawed at Nacho’s back, tried to buck him off, but his desire never slacked. In fact, it surged, overwhelming him. Through his panicked flailing, he could swear he heard the clanging of a metal gate slamming behind him. Not a welcome, after all. A trap.

Lights danced at the edge of his vision. Desire flooded him—he was drowned. He flailed, and spasmed, and came.

All at once, the pressure lifted. He sucked in huge gasps of air, coughing so hard he thought he might vomit.

When he came back to himself, he rolled over. Nacho was lying on his back, his chest heaving. Semen glistened on his stomach and chest.

As soon as he was able to, Lalo sat up. He ran a hand over his throat and winced. That was going to leave a bruise.

Well. Maybe he deserved it.

Nacho jumped when Lalo put a hand on his face and turned it until they looked into each other’s eyes. His expression was stone again. Lalo had been kicked out.

“Point taken,” Lalo finally said. “I think we understand each other now, no?”

Nacho just blinked, hard.

Lalo touched his neck again. “You hungry?”

Nacho rubbed his face. “Sure,” he said after a while.

“Take out okay?”

“Yeah. There's menus on the fridge.”

Lalo went to the bathroom to clean up. After pissing, he examined himself in the mirror. The bruise was blooming already. His eyes were bloodshot. His Nachito was strong.

Lalo grabbed a robe that was hanging near the shower. It was too short for him, but he didn’t have the energy to put on the rest of his clothes. He checked on Nacho—still awake, but unmoving, staring at the ceiling as if he could see through it if he tried hard enough.

He looked like he needed a minute, so Lalo went to the kitchen. Sure enough, there were menus hung on the fridge with magnets. Chinese sounded good. He wasn’t sure what Nacho would like, so he ordered a little bit of everything. His voice was so hoarse that he had to repeat himself several times.

He went to the living room to watch some TV. Nacho emerged when their order arrived. He hadn’t gotten dressed either.

They sat beside one another and ate. Nacho was a sweet and sour man, it turned out. Lalo had wonton soup, which soothed his throat.

Nacho turned the channel to some sci-fi movie—but not one of the ones with lasers and robots. It was serious. Boring. Lalo picked up the remote and changed it.

As soon as he set the remote down, Nacho picked it up again and changed it back. Their gazes locked. Lalo looked away first.

Boring movie it was, then. Lalo finished eating and settled back, pulling Nacho with him. Nacho lay his head on Lalo’s shoulder and sighed.

Lalo kissed his forehead. “You really are something, Ignacio Varga. Anyone ever tell you that?”

His lips twitched. It might have been a smile. “Only you.”

Lalo kissed him again. “That’s right,” he said, holding Nacho closer. “Only me.”

**Author's Note:**

> Whew! Pretty wild, right? But fun! I had fun, anyway.
> 
> ~~I'm not going to check the series complete box yet - I'm really curious about what Nacho thinks about what just happened, but he isn't speaking to me at the moment. Can't say that I blame him. However, this would be a pretty good place to end the series. Maybe I'll try something with more of a plot next time. I have a few ideas.~~
> 
> ETA - The story continues! I just can't stay away from these guys!


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